Interpol's finest
by Tyse
Summary: Follows the life of interpol's Finest as they attempt to deal with the recent crime spike, not very Slycentric. Heck, he's barely mentioned in the first chapter.M for language&situations.
1. Chapter 1

Well, if I don't write something now, I likely won't get the motivation to again. Thank god for spell check, at least.

**Disclaimer:** I still have to put one of these up, right? I do not own any characters of the Sly Cooper cannon.

**Owie**

If you had been on the second floor of Interpol's Paris section at that fateful moment, you would have noticed that the entire floor was strangely quiet. Of course it was, it was 2AM and the entire building was empty. _Almost _empty at least, as there was an investigator that had decided to stay a little late, a choice she now knew was not the best that could have been made. As Carmelita Fox ran down a hallway that she swore she had been only 5 minutes ago, she chanced a glance over her shoulder. She was distraught to see that her assailant was not only still there, but he had drawn his weapon and was closing in. Assailant…she never thought she would say that about her own partner. She had _trusted_ him, and now she was fleeing for her life, by their own office, from him.

(No time to get emotional now, girl. Knock him down then you can dispense with the unbridled hate.)

She checked him over once more, trying to find some weakness that she could exploit. Wondering if she would perhaps catch his hair of clothes on something, she started picking over his clothes. She saw the dark black hair pulled into the usual ponytail. His glasses were slightly askew, and going further down she noticed that his usual leather jacket was on over a green t-shirt. Further still were blue jeans and some rather plain tennis shoes.

(Nothing baggy to trip him up with…although he is breathing pretty heavy.)

Ah ha! He _was _rather overweight, and the chase had to have been going on for what, half an hour now? Yes, she had him now, all she had to do was wait, wait and run unti-

(What the hell is he smiling about?)

"**_Oof!_**" Well, Carmelita had to admit that she wasn't counting on the wall being on his side, or herself running directly into its little trap. She looked desperately in every direction for an exit, but it seemed that she had ran into a corner.

"You're getting sloppy inspector…you should know to…always keep your eyes forward," Gasped her attacker. She felt a bit of pride in realizing that she was right, if the chase had continued, he would probably have passed out. "But that really…doesn't matter now, does it?" He said through a devilish grin. Carmelita gasped slightly as he aimed his weapon at her. He squeezed the trigger, laughing at her distraught face.

She felt a sudden coldness just below her neck, a coldness that bled down slowly as she fell to her knees. "Ugh...how could ...you?" Carmelita heard herself croak. The only reply she got was another terrible cold feeling, this time near her stomach. She crumpled to the floor, breathing slowly.

"Owie."

"…Okay, seriously, you are the wimpiest person I've ever met," He said, chuckling. "I've never seen someone fall because of a little _water_!"

"Jason that wasn't FAIR, I was down," She whined as she tried in vain to wring out her shirt. "You can't shoot me unless I'm able to defend myself!"

"Defend yourself? Defend yourself with this?" He laughed, pulling _her_ water pistol from his jacket "You dropped it next to Merdios' office about the third time we passed it." He accented the point by squirting water on the tip of her muzzle.

"Gah, stop it!" She shouted flailing her arms to knock the water gun from his hands. No doubt about it, she was getting annoyed; she had never lost at water tag before, not since she was three. "Just help me up before the janitor comes and rats us out to the chief."

"Do you honestly think that he believes that we're actually working this late?" Jason asked, one brow cocked in that impossibly high way that only he seemed to be able to manage.

"No, according to the grapevine everyone thinks we're having passionate, nasty sex." She returned, attempting to raise her eyebrow and scowling when she achieved only half the height Jason got.

"Well," he said while extending a hand to help her up "the grapevine says lots of things, most of which are ignored by the common populace."

Carmelita got up and frowned when she realized that her partner had managed to completely soak her shirt, something she was sure he wasn't quite as sorry about. "Look, I'm going to head home for the night; I don't think there's any new evidence to be gathered by squirting each other in the face."

(And I need to change out of this shirt)

She glared at him attempting to look as fierce as her reputation stated that she was, failing only slightly and looking very pouty.

"Well, alright then. I'll tidy up the office a bit before I go then, see-ya." Jason mumbled, rather sad that the game had ended just when he started winning.

Carmelita began weaving her way through the many small cubicles that formed the office for the lower ranking investigators or the normal grunt cops. She had never liked how they had these set up, it's as if the concept of even rows hadn't existed back in the day. People put in quite a few complaints about the confusing set up, but few people knew that as an 'Earthquake Precaution' all the walls, including the cubicles, were cemented to the floor. Carmelita wasn't sure if that was entirely legal, but it's been that way since she was with Interpol and there was likely no changing it now anyway. She breathed a sigh of relief when she finally reached the elevator, happy to be out of the maze. As she hit the 'down' button, she took out her keys. It was a survival tip her mother taught her, always something sharp and pointy ready when you're dealing with unknown factors, like who could be in the elevator. Can't help against a gun, but can't hurt any either. She milled over this advice in her head a few times, smiling about the thought that she might have to stab that creepy guy in the lab, in self defense of course. She leaned against the wall and tried to dry off her shirt, moaning when she realized that not only was her shirt soaked, but she had elected to skip wearing a bra that day. The elevator doors slid open with a 'ding', and as she stepped in she prayed that there was nobody left on the ground floor, frowning deeper when she tried to button her jacket.

(Of course, the button-less model. 'Less fuss, with less buttons!')

She pushed the button for the ground floor, attempting to cover her breasts in any way possible. She eventually decided that the best course of action was to pull her jacket closed and cross her arms, worked as cover and made her look to be in deep thought, so hopefully nobody was going to want to bother on the way to her car. Dashing through the lobby, she was pleased to find the parking lot mostly empty aside from a few cars. Sighing in relief, she dropped her hands and stretched her back.

"**_WOOOOOIE!_**'

(God_damnit,_ so close!)

"Yer lookin' FINE girl, and I daresay you are ser-tan-lei _gifted_!" Said an officer leaning up against a car "Yew wanna see how gifted I am?"

"Can it Merdios, I'm not in the mood tonight." Carmelita growled as she walked away from the cat in the obnoxious orange vest and kakis as fast as she could, aiming herself towards her car, happy that the path was for once unobstructed. As she got in, she saw that Merdios had followed her.

"Not in the mood? Baby, you're ALWAYS stayin' up late with Ollos up there," He said, leaning up against the window of her car "Why don't you spread the love a bit?"

"Get off my car Merdios, I just had it cleaned."

"Ooh, feisty, I like that-"

"I mean it; you have till I count to three…"

"C'mon, you walk out here with a wet shirt-"

"One…"

"Then you arch your back and practically throw them at the world-"

"Two…"

"And besides, you're shit as an inspector, we ALL know how you got the job-"

"THREE!" She yelled as she floored the gas pedal, stopping when she felt the back end of her car rise a bit. She checked the rear-view mirror and smiled as the look on officer Merdios' face went from lewd to pain.

"Move…the car…now!" He hissed at her through clenched teeth.

"Oh, move the car? How? Like this?" She asked in her best 'dumb broad' voice. She held the brake with one foot and slammed on the gas with another, essentially spinning her wheels…on Merdios's foot. She let off of the brake and sped away from the parking lot, reaching down to turn on the radio to drown out the profanities. She took a quick glance at the clock, and frowned at what she saw.

(Ugh, 2:30, it's going to be-)

(-hell to get up in the morning)

Jason walked around the office he shared with Carmelita putting away papers and trying to get some sense of order restored. He thought it was funny how the more evidence and information you have on a case the harder it was to actually solve, the point accented as he picked up the 5th stack of eye-witness descriptions of the killer.

"How the hell does a bull covered in tattoos blow a skunk's head off with a sawn-off and manage to hide his face completely from all the people in a fuckin' _shopping mall?_" He asked himself.

(Maybe he wasn't a bull? No hair at the scene matched for bull, and people can do amazing shit with makeup these days.)

"Eh, maybe it was Sly Cooper…" he said sarcastically. Since becoming partners with Carmelita Fox, he had begun to understand why she was always putting up such a hateful front. Everyone in Interpol and the free press seemed to have a personal vendetta against her. At first they decided to rag on him too, but after solving a few cases they decided that he must be the competent one of the two. It really got under his skin, because Carmelita was his _partner _and everyone made it out to be that he drags her along just to keep her away from anything that would explode if she dropped it. He moved over to Carmelita's desk and began clearing away papers to the side, careful not to mix them up. He noticed something under a stack of papers and reached under to pull it out.

"Oh what the **hell **Carmelita?" He mumbled at the half empty whisky bottle he now held in his hand. "You promised you would try to quit, damnit, what's eating you now?" he said as he began checking the paper the bottle was wrapped in. It seemed to be a newspaper. He pulled it off the bottle and unfolded it, checking it over. It was the paper for the day before, and there was nothing really eye catching about it. He saw that another group was angry about the new strip club that opened up, this time because it was apparently too risqué to name a strip joint 'The Crusty Vagina'. He flipped tit over and saw an article that had been circled in red pen.

(Oh for fucks sake…)

The header for the article read 'Ace Investigator Jason Ollos jeopardizing the case?' The article was accompanied by a small picture of Carmelita; the particular picture was one of her apparently very drunk. He sat down and began reading the article to himself in a quiet voice, growing slightly angrier at the reporter that had written the article.

"Yesterday, I, in the interest of bringing the people the news they demand, visited the crime scene that resides in what was a lovely shopping mall. My feelings of terror only escalated when instead of finding the young Jason Ollos, I instead found Carmelita Fox stumbling haphazardly through the scene. _MY _guess is she was drunk, but don't quote me on that, loyal reader. I asked where investigator Ollos was and she replied in a very hostile way that that the case is classified and she will not offer any information. She is withholding information from **YOU **loyal readers! When I reminded her that I didn't ask about the case, only the location of her partner, she became very angry and made motions to her sidearm. Fearing that my life was in danger, as Inspector Fox is known for her collateral damage during her 'Investigations', I left the scene, no wiser than before but far more scared. Need I remind you that Carmelita is world-renowned for being Unable to catch a mere raccoon and-**SEE "BADCOP" A6**

Jason crumpled up the paper and threw it in the wastebasket, sighing. HE remembered the reporter; he had been standing about 2 foot to the left of him during the 'Interview'. He also found it hard to believe that his partner had threatened the reporter's life with a shock pistol when she didn't even have it with her! At least he knew why she had been so uptight the last few days.

(Probably why she had been called to the chiefs office today too.)

He sat in the chair frowning for at least ten minutes trying to clear his head, he couldn't think very well when angry, most of his ideas at those times were classified as felonies. He started thinking back to the case. Nobody saw the killers face, all they noticed was that he was a bull.

(Or was he?)

It seemed very odd that from all the eyewitness reports none of them has a single defining feature about the suspect. What if there **_were no defining features_**? A disguise made well enough to give the impression of a bull but not detailed enough to have any actual defining features to report. Hmm, he would have to check that option out tomorrow with…

(Oh boy, Carmelita. When she finds out I found her liquor it's going to be hell…)

He wondered if there was anything he could do to take some of the stress off of her. Maybe take over the investigation himself? No, the press would have a field day with that. Mulling ideas over in his head, he eventually came to his vacation days. He had quite a few built up, and was thinking of taking a week off sometime in the colder months, just for relaxation.

(That's it!)

The idea hit him like a train, Carmelita needed a day off! He had never seen her take a day off in her life, so she must at _least_ have a couple of days vacation! The idea seemed great, until he realized that there was no way she would willingly give up a day at her favorite pastime, work.

(Who said she had a choice? You hear how the chief is always saying he would love just one day where he wouldn't have to yell at her.)

A big grin came over Jason's face as he started planning his evil little plot. He decided he would go over to her place, bring some snacks, tie her ass to the sofa and force her to watch every episode of 'South Park' he could fit into one day. Oh yes, he would help her relax. He would even if he has to chase her around her house with a knife to do it. He got up and walked to the window to peer out at the wonderfully shitty city that was Paris, France, and noticed someone curled up in the parking lot holding their leg in the air.

"Huh, wonder what's got Merdios so freaked."


	2. Chapter 2

**Yeah, I'm pretty sure it still is**

It was early in the morning in Paris, France, and the light filtered in through to curtains onto the bed containing a vixen and a raccoon. The vixen opened her eyes and slowly pulled herself from her husband's embrace, rolling to the side of the bed to get a better view of her room. She glanced across the expensive satin sheets towards the mini bar, home entertainment system, and the network of tubes running across the ceiling, housing thousands of tiny flickering lights. And it was all paid for buy her husband's job. She looked over at him once more and slipped out of bed, heading across the zebra patterned carpet for the bathroom.

This vixen's name is Martha and her husband's is Vince, they have absolutely nothing to do with this story.

"Good morning Paris, this is Jon Bastrab, on your number one station for classic rock, T-RAL, The Rail!"

"Fuck," Carmelita mumbled as she began smashing her fist in the general direction of the alarm, using the other hand to try to push her hair somewhere else besides her eyes. Finally succeeding in that task, she noticed that the sun was blasting full force through the holes in her curtains. Quickly moving her arm to cover her eyes, she discovered that a bottle of vodka had been perched precariously against her arm. And now, it was spilling the precious lifeblood directly onto her tail. She groaned and began grasping for it, when the hangover hit and she decided that she needed a shower anyway.

"We're kickin' off the morning with Guns **_and_** Roses today folks, here's 'Paradise City'." The radio announced, before starting into the song. Carmelita smiled for a moment; at least they weren't playing 'Welcome to the Jungle' again. The smile faded fast when her hangover reminded her that guns and roses was not only loud, but they also had a drummer. Finally pulling herself up to a sitting position did nothing for her hangover, but she saw it as a start towards actually getting up and going to work today. She swung her feet off the bed and began using them to grope around for something to shove them into.

"Oh, right," she muttered when she remembered that she had accidentally set her slippers on fire three weeks prior. She pulled herself to a standing position and began walking to the bathroom door, trying to pull off the pajamas she had puked on, fallen asleep in, and likely puked on a few more times before she woke up. Finally reaching the door, she pulled it open and immediately regretted it. The heat hit her first, carrying with it the smell that could only come from vomiting in and proceeding to use the toilet, then closing the door and leaving the space heater on all night. She held her breath and flushed the vile concoction, spraying every 'fresh scent' cleaning product she could get her hands on. The smell was still there, but it was at least bearable enough to take a shower around. A shower she would get halfway through only to realize that she had no clean clothes left, which would ultimately leave her feeling just as dirty as when she got in. After the shower and the full-hour attempt to dry her fur, she finally decided to just throw on what she wore yesterday.

(Oh those bitches on the first floor are going to eat this up.)

After lacing up her boots and attempting to tame her hair, Carmelita opened the door to the rest of her apartment, knowing that she would see a mess and possibly a small fire, praying that it would be something she could clean up in time for work. What she saw shocked her. The main area was spotless, as in someone had came in and cleaned the entire place. Her gaze fell on the front door and she noticed it was slightly ajar, and the realization that there was someone else in her house caused her to draw her shock pistol, more out of instinct than anything else. She heard sounds coming from the kitchen; she guessed that was where the intruder was. Sliding against the wall, she made her way slowly to the entryway to the kitchen, hoping that whoever it was wasn't armed.

"Carmelita, where the hell do you keep your Dr. Pepper? Cus it ain't in the fridge." Came a voice from behind her, causing her to jump.

"_Jesus!_"

"You can also call me Jason, or Mr. Ollos if you prefer," Jason said with a wide grin, Carmelita had guessed that he had wanted to use that line for quite a while now. "Now, I'm serious, I can't find any Dr. Pepper, only shitty Coke."

"But I like Coke," she stammered, a sounding a bit shaken for her liking "and how the hell did you get into my apartment?

"You _drink _that shit?" Jason shouted "I use it to get rid of tile grout and you actually _bathe _your_ insides _in it?"

"You, in my apartment, how?" she persisted.

"Eh, the door was open," He returned, staring at a bottle of Coke in much the same way someone would look at road kill "I figured you were already up, or just forgot. You're lucky your T.V. is still there, in this neighborhood."


End file.
